“And she said?”
“You’re not useless; you’re just twenty-three. They can feel similar sometimes. I couldn’t be prouder of you if I tried. And I’m not scared of your father.”
“I am.”
“Tell me about your time with Ophelia.”
I pull out a photo of my girl holding the pizza boxes in the car, her face the embodiment of a thundercloud. My mom laughs. “Make her bigger.”
I zoom in and hand it back. Mom’s joy is almost childlike. The women in my life arewaytoo invested in my love life. “Isn’t she just wonderful? She has such incredible hair. So many freckles. And what a pretty dress.”
“She just bought it from a charity shop. It was two pounds,” I say, swiping to the next photo. Ophelia’s on my bed at our London home, hugging her knees as she eats a slice of pizza. She looks much happier in this one. My mom’s smile broadens, if that was possible. “Alex! Eating pizza on white bedsheets. I didn’t raise you to be a caveman.”
“I think you must’ve.”
I swipe again, to a picture of Ophelia bundled up so tightly in the duvet that only her eyes and nose are visible. Mom presses her hand to her chest and sighs. “Oh, Alex. I’m just dying to meet her. She must love you so much to be able to see past what your father did.”
That isn’t lost on me. It stuns me every day she spends with me. “I know.”
She looks at me with so much warmth. “How was the house in London?”
“Fine,” I say, shutting off the phone. I leave out any details of the break-in. It won’t do her any good.
I know my mother is not particularly fond of New York. “Do you like that house?”
She picks at a scab on her cracked bottom lip, lost in thought.
“Would you move there?” I clarify, before she gets triggered by some old memory. “When all this is over?”
She shifts her knees up onto the bench, hugging them. “Maybe. I do want to get out of this city, one day. I’ve never really loved cities, anyway. I prefer the countryside.”
“In Scotland?” I say, half joking, half hopeful.
“I’d love that, Alex. But the girls might be a harder sell.”
“That’s true.” Convincing Fleur to leave New York would be the achievement of a lifetime.
“Don’t give up on it, though. Those girls know how much you’ve sacrificed for them; I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d live there for you for two years while you study. We’ve been through a lot here in New York.”
I wonder if the glitz and the glamour and the memories that fill these walls have tarnished into something rotten for any of the girls. If my father’s footsteps echo in the hallways, my mother’s screams rattle the windows for them, too.
I grew up between Paris, London, and New York. This has never felt like home to me, but I’m sure it does to Josie, who has onlyeverlived here. I need them all on board before I can move us.
“Besides, there isn’t much Mia wouldn’t do for you.”
I smile when she sets the vase of flowers on the stone patio at our feet. “I love that little idiot.”
“She’s got the best bits of your father.” She fiddles with her fingers. “Maybe in a few months, when I’m not on some horrible low, I could fly to meet Ophelia.”
I’m not sure it’s the best idea, but I don’t shoot it down. “I’ll have a chat with the doctors.”
She sighs, contented and happy with the mottled sunlight on her bare toes, and drifts off to sleep with her cheek against my shoulder. I slip my jacket around her narrow shoulders and promise myself never to forget the quiet moments like these.
Chapter 19
OPHELIA
Knowing Cain Green isn’t in Scotland would be relaxing if I didn’t know he was in New York. Alex must be tired of me texting him every five seconds for confirmation that he and his sisters are still alive.
